Rohingya community mobilizes after fatal immigration death, demanding systemic change
The East Side of Buffalo is reeling after the death of Nurul Amin Shah Alam, a 56-year-old Rohingya refugee, who succumbed to the elements in February following a series of bewildering encounters with local law enforcement and federal immigration officials. The tragedy has ignited a fierce, and surprisingly unified, response from the community.
A spark of resistance emerges
Alam, who spoke no English and struggled with mental health issues, was simply dropped outside a closed coffee shop during a brutal winter. Months of custody followed, culminating in his solitary release – freezing and alone – far from the support networks he desperately needed. Now, two months later, the Rohingya community is demanding accountability and systemic change, spearheaded by a grassroots organization, the Rohingya Empowerment Community (REC).
“What if what happened to Amin happened to my dad?” asks Azimah Jalil, program director and co-founder of REC, her voice thick with emotion. Her father, like Alam, faces challenges with vision and limited English, fueling a deep-seated fear within the community. But from this terror, a powerful movement is taking shape – a refusal to remain silent.
Assemblyman Jonathan Rivera reports seeing a similar trend across his district: immigrant congregations emptying as fear grips families. The community is pushing for the New York for All act, legislation designed to prohibit local law enforcement from collaborating with federal immigration authorities. It’s a bold move, one rooted in decades of displacement and a painful history of denial.
From silence to action
REC, founded just three months before Alam’s death, has rapidly become the focal point for this mobilization. What began as a support hub offering assistance with healthcare and childcare is now a center for petitions, rallies, and a renewed commitment to political engagement – a feat remarkable considering the community’s history of survival through enforced silence and statelessness.
“I only take basic information,” explains Imran Fazal, REC’s co-founder, a survivor of Myanmar’s violence who fled by boat at age 23. “And then in one hour we try to solve their problems and they leave.” Fazal himself recounted packing an immigration court hearing with 40 community members while Alam was still detained, and coordinating an international letter-writing campaign. In early March, he stood alongside advocates, demanding legislative action.
The stories of those involved are deeply personal. Ayet Ullah, born in refugee camps in Bangladesh, brings a pragmatic approach, organizing community dinners rather than relying on traditional clinical therapy. “You just create that environment, you put them there, you leave them alone,” he says. The REC operates on a shoestring budget, funded entirely by its founders – relying on personal savings, mortgaged homes, and countless volunteer hours.
Fatimah Abdul-Roshid, Alam’s wife, describes the agonizing year of waiting for her husband’s release, punctuated by unanswered phone calls. “They could have called us to tell us they were letting him out,” she says, translated by Fazal. “They didn’t do that.” The lack of communication, she notes, reflects the systemic erasure that has plagued the Rohingya community for decades – a consequence of Burma’s citizenship laws and the violence that followed.
The current stalemate over the New York for All act highlights the urgency of the situation. As Fazal powerfully states, “As genocide survivors, we have endured immense hardship across multiple countries due to our statelessness. We never imagined that we would still have to live in fear – worried about police encounters or feeling confined to our homes.” The fight for this legislation isn’t simply about a piece of legislation; it’s about reclaiming agency and demanding a seat at the table – a crucial step in dismantling a system that has repeatedly failed them.